Coda
by TwinEnigma
Summary: All songs must end. A universe away and following the End of Time, the Metacrisis Tenth Doctor listens to the coda of a distant song that he knows well.


_**Coda**_

_By TwinEnigma_

_Disclaimer: I do this for fun, not profit, and obviously do not own Doctor Who._

_Warnings: Spoilers for End of Time, Journey's End and Eleventh Hour; Ten II (10.5, 10.2, Handy, Metacrisis Tenth, whatever) and Rose - could read as friendship or more, whatever floats your boat; references to musical terms.  
_

_

* * *

  
_

It had been a mild Christmas - far warmer than he remembered them being – and it was atypically quiet. Overhead, a zeppelin slowly slogged through the night, the distant engines silent, and, below, the city sprawled like a sea of incandescent stars. It almost felt like the whole world was holding its breath and waiting for something.

He looked up at the sky, listening to the faint and distant notes of a song only he could hear – a song that had been known to him practically from the first moment he drew breath. The Doctor's song, a song he had once shared, but no more. His song, if he could ever hear it, was certainly different now. He supposed it would be like a variation on a theme, but the only one who could tell him was a universe away and couldn't very well hear his own song in order to compare the two.

The Doctor's song had been strained since they were left there on Bad Wolf Bay just a few scant months ago, a fugue of sorrow and frustration running through the refrain, and he knew that all was not well, but the song did not lack hope. He drew strength from that, because even though things were bad, the song meant the Doctor refused to pack it in, and as long as the Doctor did, so to would he.

One day, very briefly, the song rose to a horrifying crescendo, one that sent chills through every bone in his body. This was something he remembered feeling strains of before, in two others, and the taint of it in this song was repulsive and terrifying, a reminder of things he'd forgotten to be afraid of. He could not conceal his relief when the refrain returned to normal, humbled with chords of regret and self-loathing.

It danced for weeks between somber and spirited until Christmas Eve, when suddenly the song became hurried, erratic, and a second, alarmingly familiar four-beat song burst into life. He'd left the Christmas party without a word, not even to Rose. She found him outside, pale and shaking with his eyes on the stars. He spent much of the next day distracted, straining to listen past the crinkle of wrapping paper, and assuring everyone he was all right, when he was anything but. The day after that the tune felt louder, terribly so, and he could hardly concentrate on a thing.

On the fourth morning, he woke from a nightmare of the Time War to the horrifying cacophony of his people, impossibly alive and ripping through time, space and reality itself, their melody now insane and twisted. He could feel the song of the universe turning into a scream of incalculable agony and he fled to the loo, where he was promptly sick.

And then, suddenly, it was deafeningly quiet.

He had to strain to hear the faint notes of the sole surviving song and then it was rising, a relieved chorus. Once more, it rose to a brilliant, horrible crescendo and, for a moment, he was afraid. But it fell into the familiar refrain of noble heroism and, though the song had become riddled with agony, he could not help but be relieved that some greater shadow had been avoided once more.

That brought him to where he was now, looking out at the sky with nothing but the dimming, distant song in his ears, and his new scarf, something like the one he remembered from six lifetimes ago, wrapped around his shoulders. All through the day, he had listened to this slow coda, the echoes of refrains he remembered well revisited in fond tones of farewell. And now, he felt that song build to its final crescendo, swelling with the artron energy that even now, a universe away, he could still sense like a ghostly echo.

There was a moment's pause, a moment the length of four heartbeats that utterly terrified him, and then he heard it. Faint, yes, but he could still hear it.

Fast, young and cheeky, almost like swing, but utterly, completely alive.

"Doctor?" Rose called out from behind him. "What're you doing up here?"

He closed his eyes, listening still.

"You okay, then? You got this look like you're a million miles away," she said, placing a steady hand on his arm.

"Much further than that," he admitted.

"Something wrong with _him_, then?" she asked. "You can still feel him a bit, yeah? S' why you've been all... even though there's nothing going on here. S' only thing that makes sense."

"He's gone, regenerated," he explained, opening his eyes as the new song steadied. He ran a hand through his hair absently and added, "New man now."

She gave him a look that he couldn't even begin to decipher and then looked down at his hand, as if she'd at long last come to some incredible decision. Her hand then slid into his and held on, squeezing his reassuringly. On Bad Wolf Bay, he'd done the same, trying to say that he would still be there for her, and now she returned the favor, her fingers twined in his like a promise.

It felt like they'd just taken a huge step forward, like some huge weight had lifted.

"Still not ginger, though," he added, jokingly, and she giggled a little in spite of herself, thumping him on the arm with her free hand.

"Hope he finds someone to keep him company," she then said seriously. "You and him... you lot don't do well without someone. S' what I think, anyway."

Already he can hear the faint, faint notes of a new theme and a new refrain building into the song. "Knowing him, he won't be alone for long. Never is."

"Think he'll be all right?"

"Well," he started, smiling a little, "He always is."

Except when he wasn't, not really, but now was certainly not the time.

"Come on, it's cold up here," Rose said, smiling, "Let's go home, yeah?"

"Yeah," he agreed, squeezing her hand.

They had their own song now.

* * *

AN: I wondered if Metacrisis Tenth (or as I call him, MetaTen) felt the Time Lords return, assuming "same everything" meant same abilities/sense, what have you. Presumably, their little ascend to a higher plane plan would have been just as bad as the Reality Bomb.

I also kinda wanted to write a story about moving on.


End file.
